Review: Johnny Marr, Wet Leg and more live at BBC 6 Music Festival

Johnny Marr sends fans home with classics new and old.

Having recently commemorated 20 years on air, BBC 6 Music, in keeping with their ethos of always looking forward, has already moved on to the next thing.

After a two-year break, the festival returns to live action with a maiden visit to Cardiff; the Great Hall, ordinarily the Student Union for Cardiff University, is the main hub for this year’s event, with Saturday’s trio of acts all previewing new material.

beabadoobee opens proceedings, although the Filipino-British songwriter largely plays things safe with only one track from forthcoming album Beatopia included in the set.

New single Talk sits comfortably within her diverse canon, as the songs included only have one common denominator: her lilting, near-angelic voice which masks a steely under-current.

The drifting and floating atmospherics of Tired evokes The Man Who-era Travis in its wistfulness, but she isn’t afflicted by the same optimism. Elsewhere, the summery, surf-pop Care may conjure up memories of innocent and naïve times but lines such as, ‘stop saying you give a shit ‘cos you don’t really,’ indicate that it would be wise to look beneath the surface of this girl.

Lyrically intriguing she may be, but her serene voice does sometimes struggle to be heard against the often-heavy noise she and her bandmates create, especially on tracks such as the grungy Dye It Red and Talk.

More effective as a showcase for her voice is the sweet and succinct Coffee, or the road-trippy He Gets Me So High, which are so endearing as to be hugs put to music. beabadoobee announces that she was slightly nervous having not played a gig since December but, despite her fears, there were few signs of rust or cobwebs.

Also playing one of their first gigs for some months are Sports Team, although they have no reservations about their capabilities; speaking with Craig Charles earlier in the day, singer Alex Rice, with tongue possibly in cheek, declared: ‘I think we’re the greatest live band in the world. You’ve got six of us who are all doing different things, who don’t necessarily like each other. Every show could be the last one. There’s going to be a lot of movement.’

He wasn’t lying. Rice is eternally active, whether he’s in and out of the crowd like a jack-in-a-box, throwing his body around overstatedly or taking to the top of the speaker stack.

Rice is a consummate frontman, playing the crowd well by referencing the football earlier in the day (Cardiff losing comprehensively to rivals Swansea) or self-deprecatingly introducing new songs – ‘This one’s alright, it’s not our best,’ he says of brand-spanking-new single R Entertainment, ‘we’ll get the new ones out of the way.’

The group plays three other new songs from the just-announced second album Gulp!, all of which point to a meatier future. The Game is Strokes-y in sound and propulsion while The Drop could be the heaviest thing they’ve done to date.

Cool It Kid is revealed to be a duet with Sorry’s Asha Lorenz (sadly not in attendance), but Rice makes up for her absence by sitting on the front barrier and serenading the crowd.

The familiar songs have the intended effect. The Races chugs and plunders, Camel Crew (about the South London music scene, so Rice informs us) is becoming an anthem and the mosh pit looks like a place for the brave of heart during Here’s The Thing and Fishing.

Despite Rice’s comments, Sports Team are very much a gang. Henry Young does a lot of heavy-lifting on the lead guitar while Rob Knaggs delivers shouty backing vocals. As so often is the case, the rhythm section of bassist Oli Dewdney and Al Greenwood on drums hold everything together to allow their bandmates the space to flourish, but it seems nobody has told keyboardist/tambourine player Ben Mack. Stoic and nonchalant, barely moving unless he has to, Mack’s Goldie Lookin’ Chain vibe should make him a cult hero, and the campaign to do so starts here.

Bloc Party may have only been away from the live arena for three years but it’s been a long six since they offered up any new material, and tonight’s headline set sees them feted as returning heroes. Always ones to do things their own way, 10 songs of the 17-strong set are all new cuts from new album Alpha Games.

It’s a brave move for a festival show, but the four-piece know what they are doing. The growling Traps, with both Kele Okereke and Russell Lissack (who hasn’t aged in 18 years) sliding and flexing their fingers up and down their respective frets, is growing assuredly with each listen, while current single If We Get Caught is classic Bloc Party, a slice of romantic escapism in the vein of I Still Remember. Likewise Rough Justice, all epic verse and snapping, hungry chorus.

The group seem rejuvenated by the recruitment of Louise Bartle on drums; Bartle is a revelation, the band’s art-pop was always defined by the angular structures which required drumming to match, and she doesn’t let up for a second, even using a drum pad in conjunction with her kit on newbie By Any Means Necessary.

The restless Sex Magik is another chance for her to shine, a track that sounds like such a detailed studio composition that could have been problematic to transfer to the live arena.

Yet, for no other reason than their familiarity, once again it’s the old songs that make it a night to remember. The snarling Kettling, referred to by Okereke as a golden oldie (which, at a terrifying 10 years old, one supposes it must be) has improved over time, while Hunting For Witches (‘all reasonable thought is being drowned out by the non-stop baying for blood’) is still eerily and sadly prescient.

Okereke is in a playful mood tonight, humouring someone who declares that they love him, and gets to indulge his dancing MC side on The Ratchet. ‘I think it’s going to go off,’ he archly tells the crowd before it commences, and he’s not wrong, while a scorching Helicopter follows gloriously in its wake.

Early single Banquet and the beastly disco of The Prayer have the desired effect, yet it’s the timelessly beautiful and peerless This Modern Love that lifts the crowd beyond ecstasy. The singer dedicates it to ‘anyone who may have missed us’. One can presume that all 2000 attendees did.

While Saturday’s sets have one eye on the future, Sunday’s are all about the present (forsaking a few choice cuts from the headliner). The Great Hall is packed from the outset on Day 2 and feels very much like ‘the place to be’ for band-of-the-moment Wet Leg.

One week out from the release of their debut, and having just returned from California (‘California to Cardiff baby!’), the duo are positively beaming. Any expectations or pressure that comes from being The Next Big Thing are shrugged off as they rattle through their set of absurdist observations and thumping slacker-rock. Most encouragingly, they don’t take themselves too seriously.

Rhian Teasdale smiles knowingly as she omits the swear words during the ghostly Being In Love, although when she’s caught out later during Ur Mum she, along with fellow vocalist and guitarist Hester Chambers, giggle with horrified resignation; Teasdale’s face as she realises what she’s done is a picture. The latter song is broken up by a primal scream which echoes through the venue piercingly, while the background sirens of Too Late Now precede the frequenting tempos.

It’s a brief set, bolstered by the science-fiction ballad Obvious (sadly not on the forthcoming album), with Supermarket likely to be another trump card to add to a swelling collection.

The duo have a laconic confidence that has stood them in good stead, and with songs like Wet Dream and Chaise Longue, Wet Leg are sure to be one of the soundtracks of the summer (for the second consecutive year).

Steve Lamacq hits the nail on the head when introducing the next act: one whose time in pop music is very much now, Self Esteem takes to the stage flanked by her singers/dancers/friends to the sound of two sets of pounding drums, akin to the heralding of an army.

The tribal I’m Fine closes, as it does on the album, with a snippet of spoken word over the PA: ‘If we are approached by a group of men, we will bark like dogs…there’s nothing that terrifies a man more than a woman who appears completely deranged’, followed by barking from the singer as she marks her territory, to labour the point.

Sandwiched between two traditional ‘indie’ acts, Rebecca Taylor brings the glamour, with choreographed movements and electric fans on stage to accentuate the windswept spectacle (or possibly just to keep them cool).

Prioritise Pleasure is one of several cuts held together by bass lines and drums that temporarily turn the venue into a nightclub, tingling the arm hairs and spines. The set is full of pregnant pauses but they fail to outshine the likes of the punchy Moody, the gospel pop of Fucking Wizardry, or the brutally thumping How Can I Help You.

For John Elton she takes up the acoustic guitar to deliver a ‘pin drop’ moment (as she knowingly and jokingly acknowledges), but the tenderness in her voice as she delivers the line, ‘a dull ache in my stomach pit as I try to make the memories fit a less rejecting narrative for me’, is heart-rending.

The fabulous disco of recent single You Forever closes the set, but not before Taylor has had to take one of the audience members to task. Sadly not appreciating the irony, someone rudely shouts the name of the headliner on several occasions and she has to cut him down to size witheringly: ‘you’ve just got to handle three more of my songs, mate.’

It’s the only moment when the smile leaves the face of someone who is living their dream magnificently.

Ironically, Johnny Marr would likely be disappointed with the association of such a neanderthal, although that comes with the territory of being one of the architects of one of the great British bands.

Yet tonight’s headline set is far from an exercise in nostalgia, as the guitarist himself told Stuart Maconie earlier in the day: ‘I’ve got a big repertoire now. People know the new songs and there’s some old stuff I love playing.’

Marr swaggers on stage clutching his trusty Jaguar Fender, looking resplendent in dark patterned satin shirt, launching into one-off single Armatopia, warming things up before an immediate crowd-pleaser in the form of Panic. Yet, that gift aside, the first segment of the set is about 2022.

Despite its intricacies, Marr makes the neo-electric funk of Sensory Street look effortless, while the righteous Spirit Power and Soul sees him gesture both towards the crowd and to the sky.

The newer material stands shoulder-to-shoulder with the older work, which makes up the remainder of the set barring a brooding Walk Into The Sea and the poptastic Easy Money, his most successful song for some years.

The opening riff of This Charming Man is nearly drowned out by the cries of acknowledgement from the crowd, while he and his band elongate and develop Getting Away With It expertly.

It’s by no means a one-man show; despite the spotlights, Jack Mitchell veers between skins and the drum pads for the songs that have an electronic tilt accordingly, while Scott Docherty’s keys provide the texture and nuance.

However, Marr’s talent continues to reign supreme, whether he’s setting his effects pedal with his feet while singing or effortlessly strumming during Get The Message. He never does more than is necessary, but every move is devastatingly effective. Marr may not regard his voice as a key strength, but he wrenches it to add the drama that his bombastic 2015 cover of Depeche Mode’s I Feel You requires.

Arguably the most moving moment of the whole weekend arrives at the end of the main set as he dedicates There Is A Light That Never Goes Out to the ‘Foos family’; ‘We miss you, Taylor. We won’t forget you,’ which doesn’t require extra tenderness but gets it anyway.

The encore consists of a swinging Bigmouth Strikes Again and an extended How Soon Is Now?, on which Marr wigs out in his classy way, toggling his E string and adding country tones to an already astonishing piece of music.

A jewel in Marr’s crown, much like 6 Music is to the BBC.